


Bad Medicine

by ViceCaptain



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViceCaptain/pseuds/ViceCaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Wesker's death, Chris is trying to go back to his life, getting nowhere. He is still working for the B.S.A.A. and one day a case will bring him some unexpected news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> Watch out for dark and depressing begin, blood and violent sex.  
> Inspired by Bon Jovi's song Bad Medicine:
> 
> “Your love is like bad medicine.  
> Bad medicine is what I need.  
> Shake it up just like bad medicine.  
> You have the cure that can kill my disease.”

Another night spent totally awake. At that point it was much easier to count his sleeping nights. There were the sleeping pills, that was true: the pills blinked from the bottle, untouched, on his nightstand, but he refused to take them as he refused to take the other prescribed pills… the psychotropic drugs.  
  
No, he didn’t want to take them, they drove you crazier than the psychic troubles they were supposed to cure. He didn’t say anything to anyone, nor about the drugs, nor about the therapy, nor about the nightmares. And who could he tell those things? He doubted someone could listen to him with the necessary sobriety or they could change their attitude towards him, and that was even worse. He could bear to be treated smugly, to not be believed, to be hated even, but to be pitied? No, he simply couldn’t bear it.  
  
Jill would pity him, for instance. Who could have laughed of him, he wondered. Even he himself, with stranger’s eyes, if he was told “ehi, you know Chris Redfield? He is under therapy and he takes psychotropic drugs too” would have laughed “who?” he would have asked “Chris Redfield? No, not him, for sure!”.  
And yet, there he was, sleeping two hours every two days, if he was lucky, with pills lurking all around the house and with his therapist’s appointment pinned right next the grocery shopping list.  
  
In those last few days, however, he started considering the idea of not going anymore, he didn’t feel helped, he just felt uneasy… but he has to think better about it. Those sudden thoughts had already occurred to his mind when he was just back from Africa; he just thought “I could resign from B.S.A.A., in fact what is left for me to do?” as if the problems were over. No, it was wrong and he knew it, but he never happened to care less about what was right or wrong in his life… In the end, though, as it often occurred to him, he had forced himself to do the right thing, to be unselfish, to keep fighting for a greater good and bla bla bla.  
  
For whom was he doing it? That was a goddamn good question to which he didn’t want to answer. That would be so much worse for his nerves: to admit that his only purpose was to stop Wesker, the one and only thing that kept him going, the only reason that kept him alive… “god, no, these are things you could say when you lose your life’s true love, not when you kill who had ruined it” that thought made him nervous, could he really say that Wesker was the one that ruined his life? Wasn’t it how he forced himself to a sense of justice he didn’t believe that much in?  
  
He perfectly remembered Wesker trying to convince him, to make him go to his side, it was up to him to decide what to do, so it had been his choice to ruin… he closed his eyes when he thought that statement, he closed them tightly and repeated to himself he did the right thing, he did what had to be done, until he convinced himself enough to keep thinking sensibly.  
  
Going back to sleep was out of the question, so he decided to stand up and open the window. The cold night air cleared his mind a bit… it was a quiet night, some cars drove through the empty streets, there were several lights still on in the near houses, apparently he wasn’t the only one awake, but the fact didn’t cheer him up. He took a cigarette and lighted it… the smoke flew lightly through the black sky and got lost in the night.  
  
He wasn’t crazy, he knew it for sure, he could feel it like he felt the smoke fill his lungs and fly out through his mouth leaving the taste of tobacco and nicotine behind. But there were the nightmares, and he couldn’t do anything different than suffer them; every night those inhuman mad eyes sought him, everywhere, monstrous creatures hunted Chris and they were sent from him. At night in his dreams and during the day they were in the voices he gradually heard ever less in his mind and ever more in reality. They were twisted nightmares, that ended evermore often, not with his death, but with Wesker’s death… the time dilated itself in that last moment when their eyes met before the end. Did he say something in that moment? Chris couldn’t remember, but in the dream he clearly saw Wesker’s lips move and say something like “don’t go”.  
  
But there weren’t just nightmares to haunt him, there were the other dreams too. Just thinking about those sent a shiver through his spine, its nature he couldn’t clarify. Those dreams where Wesker was the usual impassive, black cloaked son of a bitch, unbeatable and self-confident, when he hit him the pain expanded through his body like liquid fire all along his nerves and… he liked it? He liked being at his mercy, he liked Wesker making him spit blood and the sensation of that leather gloved hand clenching at his throat sent all his blood straight down to his cock. His life depended on that grip and Wesker knew it too and he smiled, a triumphant and what else grin…  
  
Chris didn’t know if he died or survived at the end of the dream, because that moment of comprehension only a step away from death was just enough to make him wake up sweated and turned on, with his heart racing and oh-god-so-painfully aroused that his sight was clouded. When those dreams occurred to him, Chris didn’t know what to think. Just remembering them in that moment made him feel confused and excited; he put the cigarette off and threw the butt out of the window. He looked up to the pitch black sky and murmured:-I’m not crazy… but maybe I’m sick and there is no cure for it, I’m afraid- and there was no doubt on that point.  
  
“sane people don’t feel aroused if their lives are at the mercy of a monster” he thought while stepping away from the window. Perhaps being alone wasn’t healthy for him, maybe he should have found a girlfriend…  
He smiled bitterly, finding himself a girlfriend after all he had been through seemed impossible and maybe it was. “All right, man” he said to himself “but you can’t deny you need a goddamn good fuck” and no, he couldn’t deny it, one of the kind that melted his nerves, that was what he needed. Fuck therapy and therapists too!  
Taking care of it himself wasn’t the same thing, he knew it from the high-school. Admittedly he always had a discreet success but he was single anyway.  
  
Well, a life like his wasn’t made to be shared with someone, he felt too old to search for a “sweet half” and did he want it, really? Nah, he was having enough troubles with taking care of himself, he hadn’t the strength nor the will to think after someone else. He took a glass in the kitchen and poured some whisky, a snifter sometimes couldn’t be worse than psychotropic drugs.  
  
When they came back from Africa, Jill talked to him about living together, maybe something could have happened between them and people like them could only stay together… At that point his selfish and proud part, the same of the sudden ideas, kicked the do-the-right-thing part in the ass and he roughly answered:-no!- and he didn’t regret anything said and thought. He remembered the hurt smile on her face while she was saying:-you realize how much you care about something only when you lose it. It's so true- and after that they remained just friends even if it had always been like that for him.  
  
Coming to think about it it was better that way, he would have ended up fooling her around… After all when he thought she was dead he had cried, yes, he had been sad, sure, but in little time he recovered. While now, after a year past Wesker’s death, he was in that state and he wondered why. He stopped midway as he was bringing the glass to his mouth “you realize how much you care about something only when you lose it”, that sentence made way through his thoughts as an answer to his question. He was getting concerned, his brain made weird reasoning. He swallowed the whisky in the glass and put it on the table, shivering:-no, ah ha. Stop joking- he said to himself.  
  
His cell phone suddenly rang and he answered, hugely grateful. A work call, they asked him to show up to the B.S.A.A. head quarters: the presence of what could be a biological weapon was signaled at the airport. A possible claim from Tricell maybe? He dressed up, put his leather jacket on, jumped on his motorbike and drove towards the HQ. They gave him some lapidary  information about sightings and depositions, they ordered him to go with another agent and that he had permission to fire.  
  
He had to work with a certain Nick, he knew him just by sight anyway.  
-first time on the field?- he asked Nick while driving to the airport:-ah ha- the other nodded:-I’m a bit nervous, but not about the mission per se, I did a ton of practice really- -so, what's the matter?- the other cleared his throat and answered:-now you’ll think I’m an asshole, but it’s 'cause I’ll work with you- -come again?- -yeah, well... in B.S.A.A. you’re quite the celebrity, you’re kind of an icon, you know? People look up at you... That’s why I’m so bothered- Chris laughed at that and said:-take it easy, Nick. I’m a regular person, just like you, all right? Relax- -I’ll try to- was Nick's reply.  
  
When they finally got to the airport, they found out that the police had already isolated the building and an ambulance was giving first aid medications to an injured guard:-Nick, tell them to report B.S.A.A. and wait for dispositions before proceeding with the injured. I’ll go talk with the police inspector- the other obeyed the order and Chris approached the police cars parked in a semicircle in front of the building:-hello- he greeted:-hello- replied the slightly overweight forty year old man. Chris spoke again:-how’s the situation?- -there’s something in there that harmed the guard and tried to kill two of my men- -what’s that?- -we don’t know. It’s far too quick. As we understood it wasn’t human or animal, we called you guys- the man swept the sweat from his forehead. Chris waited for Nick to return and then he ordered:-from now on we take charge of the situation, you just keep the area clear and watch from outside, don’t enter the building unless I order it- -we won’t. God bless you- the inspector stated, visibly relieved.  
  
They ventured in the empty building, suitcases lay abandoned by the evacuated people, newspapers scattered around on the floor, the conveyer belt kept running loaded with luggage, the flight luminous board was blinking while beside every flight appeared a “cancelled” writing. He took a deep breath and then ordered Nick to explore that area while he would do the warehouses, the offices, etcetera.  
  
He couldn’t find anything suspect apart from the unnatural silence of the empty building; he was calm, it took much more than that to put him on his nerves. That was a cynical observation to make, maybe, but also true: it was quite difficult for him to be upset about a single creature wandering in an airport. Maybe Nick was much more nervous than him “was it a good idea to split?” he thought, but then he put the thought aside, Nick was a B.S.A.A. agent, not a kid, he was going to do perfectly. They checked the building from bottom to top, but the only thing they found was a dense black substance smeared over some walls and floors, what could have produced it, anyway, wasn’t there.  
  
-it’s not here- he stated to the B.S.A.A. squad sent there to analyze the substance; he sat on the sidewalk outside, beside Nick who was reporting to the HQ on the phone. The inspector approached, wanting to know something about the facts:-it’s not here- Chris said:-I swear, it was, we didn’t make up anything- -I know, inspector- Chris explained while standing up:-I didn’t say it never was there, but that it isn't now- -you mean…?- the other stuttered -yeah- he nodded tiredly:-it could be wandering freely through the city- and that, finally, was a thought capable of making him feel nervous.  
  
When he got home at last, he felt tired as if that night had lasted 24 hours. Nightmares or not, he tossed himself on the couch and fell asleep, sleeping more than he did in the previous nights. He dreamt of a crawling creature lurking around the city, in search for something or someone… it almost seemed it was seeking him.  
He woke up late that evening. He wasn't hungry even if he had slept all through the day and he was ready to get a call from B.S.A.A. anytime. Even without Wesker, biological weapons were still haunting him, but he was so much less involved… “this is wrong” he said to himself, then added “fuck you and what is wrong or right. The problem is there’s a monster around, it sneaked under your nose and it can slaughter the entire city” that thought wasn’t right nor wrong, it was true and it was enough.  
  
He went in the kitchen and drank a glass of water, his cell phone beeped, announcing a text, he read it with no particular expectations: the analysis of the substance confirmed it was a biological weapon, injected with uroboros, none the less, and revealed that that dense black thing was blood. This piece of information left him kinda confused, what was the point in sending a wounded monster? So, maybe, it wasn’t a Tricell claim after all, unless they were left only with injured and half dead monsters. He grimaced at the mental image of “Tricell bench” with various monsters and things plastered and bandaged, he then stretched and got up.  
  
As he was coming out from the kitchen and entering the hallway, he noticed something strange… There was something on the walls and the floor… he flicked the light on and found out that it was the same thick, black blood from the airport. Whatever thing was the one bleeding that stuff, it was there, in his house… he drew out his gun and thought “it’s alright. It saved me the time to seek for it” fear and terror were gone in a second, there was room only for rational thoughts and quick reactions in his head.  
  
The traces led to the bathroom, it seemed. The room was dark and the door half-open, he heard something's heavy and ragged breath, like some wounded animal. He opened the door wide and entered, aiming the gun before him, his eyes got used to the darkness quickly enough, but they still weren’t capable to get used to what they saw there, on the floor, a trail of black blood led to the creature, its eyes glowing in the dark…  
  
Those eyes. He couldn’t be wrong… not a monster, nor a creature, just him, wounded and panting and alive, Christ! In the endless moment in which he looked at him, Chris lost much of his confidence and after that life-length second dilated till it seemed an hour, the time returned to running normally and everything happened so quickly… the wounded creature jumped towards him, Chris tried in vain to regain the control of his hands, holding the gun. Too slow, he always arrived a second late… the other was always quicker than Chris.  
  
He could feel himself being thrown against the shower tiles and, while he realized the pain to his shoulder and head, the creature was against him, making Chris doubt it was even wounded. Its burning eyes sought his own…  
Was that one of his dreams? Maybe he was still on the couch, sleeping.  
  
-Wesker?- he muttered while the grip on his throat started to soften gradually, the breath coming from the other was even heavier than before. He was injured and copiously bleeding, the more superficial wounds healing in the meanwhile, the deeper ones were throbbing disquietingly, but his appearance was human again. “He crawled out from that fucking volcano in Africa just to have his revenge” Chris thought, but the hand clenching at his neck lost its strength gradually every second that passed, he could have freed himself now.  
  
So he tried to escape the hold but that move woke something in the other that regained his grip with even more strength, growling lightly; he didn’t speak, he just growled and stared at him fiercely. Maybe being almost dead had made him regress to an animal state, Wesker’s face came closer to his, he sniffed the air for some seconds as if he was trying to recognize him. The grip at his throat left no escape, it was just like in his dreams. Those prohibited, nasty, painful dreams that made him wake up achingly aroused… it was that same grip, firm and proud, even if Wesker was wounded, nothing more than a vicious beast, he was still the same and he was there, pinning Chris to the wall, his life at that man’s mercy.  
  
Chris’ hands lost their strength and the gun fell with a noise, Wesker seemed astonished, he looked at the weapon and then Chris, he grinned understanding the situation, understanding the power he had. His smile, that was what made Chris wake up wet and turned on. Now he was going to find out how that dream was supposed to end. He closed his eyes while the blood flooded down towards his painfully erected cock… He was sick, yes, but in that moment he couldn’t care less.  
  
–Chris- Wesker whispered directly in his ear:-look at me- he opened his eyes, Wesker's smile widened as he inched closer. “This is wrong” Chris thought while the other’s mouth pressed against his, Wesker bit his lower lip and Chris responded to the kiss, Wesker’s tongue searched for his forcefully, with a groan Chris allowed him to claim his mouth, followed him, their breaths heavy and hot “this is wrong” his brain supplied.  
  
When their mouths parted, they stared at each other for a while, both wondering if that was for real, wondering if they were trapped in a dream, wondering if the answer did matter after all. Wesker let his neck go, he didn’t need to keep him still and he knew it; Chris saw that self confidence back in his eyes and his own thoughts came out confused. Wesker started to kiss his neck, where his hand had left red marks behind, he kissed that strong neck, that bundle of tensed muscles and Chris was panting, incapable of assembling even one sentence. Chris held him in his arms, his hands squeezing those strong shoulders, Wesker stopped for a second to rip his t-shirt, he tore it like paper and kept on kissing and biting his skin, studying those muscles and body with his lips. Going down, following the trail of blood pumping through his veins, he knelt before him and stared at his eyes; Chris looked down at those beastly eyes, that grin, he was at his mercy and he couldn’t protest. He didn’t want to.  
  
He closed his eyes, docile, while Wesker unzipped his trousers “this is wrong” his mind repeated. As the other touched his cock with his lips, a shiver ran through him and made him moan, Wesker’s mouth was hot and teased him teasingly but unstoppably… he couldn’t remember if he ever felt something like that and he was ecstatic. “This is wrong”. He could feel the orgasm building already, he had been far too pent up, he was going to blow right in his mouth, with no control on himself, but it was Wesker who stopped, it was sudden and cruel, Chris moaned incoherently, a whining sound which meant “don’t stop” and was asking for more, “this is wrong” was still his brain's reply.  
  
Wesker was grinning when he stood up, he seemed to have forgotten his wounds that were still regenerating, and made him turn fiercely, Chris' boiling skin touched cold tiles, Wesker was reminding him that he was under control of a powerful and intimidating creature, kindness was a luxury given to him when and if Wesker so liked. His arousal was ever more painful and he didn’t care how, he just wanted to feel that filthy pleasure the other was offering him… His back was exposed, he was presenting it to him, to the creature that had unsettled his life forever and now it was like he was demanding the other to unsettle it further more.  
  
Wesker’s hands were caressing his shoulders, squeezing his muscles, his left hand went up to Chris’ head pinning him against the wall, while his right hand moved to explore his insides, shoving two fingers in, roughly. Chris groaned from the shock first and from pleasure after, his bodily temperature increasing “this is wrong”.  
–enough with the playing around- Wesker said:-it’s time to get serious, what do you think?- with no hesitation came Chris’ answer:-yes, please-  
  
Wesker liked that, especially the tone of his voice, and without asking for permission he penetrated him, so fiercely that Chris was left breathless for some seconds, the pain expanded through his body like liquid fire all along his nerves, that high pitched ache, burning hot and crucial. “this is…” he couldn’t think anymore. Wesker started to thrust in him, slowly in the beginning, but then quicker and stronger as Chris’ body get used to him, his insides trembled with pleasure and sucked the other's cock deeper inside him, letting him touch that part of him that no one was allowed to touch.  
  
Chris’ throat was pouring so many sounds and words, like:-harder… fuck. Oh, god, like that…-, Wesker was grunting too as he was losing himself in the pleasure of their bodies, his cool and control slipping away as well. “This is goddamn fucking right!”. That was the medicine for his sickness, it was a bad medicine that shouldn’t be taken, an immoral medicine. But he needed just that bad medicine to kill his disease that no doctor could heal. Chris arched his back and turned his head to watch the other over his shoulder:-fuck me till we both can’t stand up anymore, you fucking bastard- he told him, his voice was hoarse but unyielding.  
  
Wesker grinned and embraced Chris’ neck with his arm, he started to tighten his hold while he kept on thrusting:-are you giving me an order, Chris?- he asked, amused:-yes… oh, fuck yes- was the other's answer. Chris came violently, with a broken cry while the grip on his neck tightened some more, his cum dripping down the tile wall. Wesker gave two final fierce thrusts in his tight body and came inside him with a guttural groan.  
  
They parted and let themselves slide to the ground, drained. Their breaths slowly calming and the sweat cooling on their foreheads and backs.  
–did you come back for this?- Chris asked:-or are you here to kill me?- -if I was here to kill you, would that make things different?- Wesker asked in return:-I’ll die content, I guess?- it felt weird hearing those words coming from his mouth but there they were, the other shook his head:-if I intended to kill you, I would have done it immediately- his wounds were already healed by then.  
–what was it that just happened?- he asked again:-your medicine, Chris- that sentence left him speechless, it almost seemed like Wesker had read his thoughts until then, but obviously he didn’t mean what he thought.  
  
Wesker gave him a knowing look, like he had just told him a deadly secret, only then Chris understood… he was a monster after all and he could infect other human beings, also through what they just did:-you…! Why?- Chris yelped:-since you refused to understand willingly, I went for a more… resolved approach, which you enjoyed quite a lot, judging on what I’ve just seen-  
  
Chris laughed suddenly, a liberating laugh:-you got out from that fucking volcano in Africa to find me and make me become like you? By screwing me, by the way- -does it make you laugh?- Wesker asked, tilting his head, Chris dropped his gaze and said:-no, it makes me confused- -it’s easier than you think it is. I came back to get what I wanted: you. We are each other's reason for living, I thought you realized that much by now- was the other reply, his voice calm and collected. -I killed you!- Chris exclaimed:-but I saw you were crying while you hit me, that’s why I told you not to go!- so the dream was true, he did tell Chris not to go because he understood before he even realized:-what now? I mean… what now that we are… uhm… the same?- Chris asked, almost shyly, the other smirked:-since we are here, let’s take a shower, tomorrow we will see. Do you have something scheduled?- Chris’ mind ran to the piece of paper pinned on the fridge with the psychiatrist's appointment written on it:-no- he answered getting on his feet:-not anymore-  
  
What was expecting them, he didn’t know, he didn’t care about anything at that point. Wesker took his hand and smiled at him “this is wrong” the voice in his head was insisting.  
“Oh, shut up!” he told himself. Fuck therapy and the therapist! That was his medicine and as long as he was going to take it he would have been alright. And fuck what was right and wrong.


End file.
